A bird for curiosity well known, With head awry, And cunning eye, Peep knowingly into a marrow-bone. And now his curious majesty did stoop To count the nails on every hoop; And lo! no single thing came in his way, "What's this? hae hae? What's that? What's this? What's that?' So quick the words too, when he deigned to speak, Thus, to the world of great whilst others crawl, Things that too oft provoke the public scorn; By finding systems in a peppercorn. Now boasting Whitbread serious did declare, What would they do, what, what, placed end to end?' To whom, with knitted calculating brow, Almost to Windsor that they would extend: On which, quick turning round his haltered head, Now did the king for other beers inquire, This was a puzzling disagreeing question, Now majesty, alive to knowledge, took Memorandum. A charming place beneath the grates For roasting chestnuts or potates. Mem. 'Tis hops that give a bitterness to beer, Hops grow in Kent, says Whitbread, and elsewhere. Quare. Is there no cheaper stuff? where doth it dwell? Mem. To try it soon on our small beer 'Twill save us several pounds a year. Mem. To remember to forget to ask Old Whitbread to my house one day. Mem. Not to forget to take of beer the cask, The brewer offered me, away. Now, having pencilled his remarks so shrewd, Sharp as the point, indeed, of a new pin, His majesty his watch most sagely viewed, And then put up his ass's-skin. To Whitbread now deigned majesty to say: 'Grains, grains,' said majesty, 'to fill their crops? Grains, grains?-that comes from hops-yes, hops, hops, hops?' Here was the king, like hounds sometimes, at fault'Sire,' cried the humble brewer, 'give me leave Your sacred majesty to undeceive; Grains, sire, are never made from hops, but malt.' 'True,' said the cautious monarch with a smile, From malt, malt, malt—I meant malt all the while." 'Yes,' with the sweetest bow, rejoined the brewer, 'An't please your majesty, you did, I'm sure.' 'Yes,' answered majesty, with quick reply, 'I did, I did, I did, I, I, I, I.' . . Now did the king admire the bell so fine, And now before their sovereign's curious eye- Appeared the brewer's tribe of handsome pigs ; Exclaimed: 'O heavens! and can my swine Heavens ! can my pigs compare, sire, with pigs royal?' On which the brewer bowed, and said: 'Good God!" Then winked significant on Miss, Significant of wonder and of bliss, Who, bridling in her chin divine, Crossed her fair hands, a dear old maid, For such high honour done her father's swine. Now did his majesty, so gracious, say To Mister Whitbread in his flying way: 'Whitbread, d'ye nick the excisemen now and then? Hae, Whitbread, when d' ye think to leave off trade? Hae? what? Miss Whitbread 's still a maid, a maid? What, what's the matter with the men? 'D'ye hunt ?-hae, hunt? No no, you are too old I'll prick you every year, man, I declare; 'Whitbread, d'ye keep a coach, or job one, pray? Job, job, that's cheapest; yes, that 's best, that's best. You put your liveries on the draymen-hae? Hae, Whitbread? You have feathered well your nest. What, what's the price now, hae, of all your stock? Now Whitbread inward said: 'May I be cursed Then searched his brains with ruminating eye; Lord Gregory. Burns admired this ballad of Wolcot's, and wrote another on the same subject. 'Ah ope, Lord Gregory, thy door, 'Who comes with woe at this drear night, 'Alas! thou heardst a pilgrim mourn Thou gav'st to love and me. 'But shouldst thou not poor Marion know, And think the storms that round me blow, Epigram on Sleep. Thomas Warton wrote the following Latin epigram to be placed under the statue of Somnus, in the garden of Harris, the philologist, and Wolcot translated it with a beauty and felicity worthy of the original. Somne levis, quanquam certissima mortis imago Come, gentle sleep! attend thy votary's prayer, THE REV. WILLIAM CROWE. WILLIAM CROWE (circa 1746-1829) was the son of a carpenter at Winchester, and was admitted upon the foundation as a poor scholar. He was transferred to New College, Oxford, and was elected Fellow in 1773. He rose to be Professor of Poetry and Public Orator, holding at the same time the valuable rectory of Alton Barnes. Crowe was author of Lewesdon Hill (1786), a descriptive poem in blank verse, and of various other pieces. Several editions of his Poems have been published, the latest in 1827. There is poetry of a very high order in the works of Crowe, though it has never been popular. Wreck of the Halsewell, East Indiaman. See how the sun, here clouded, afar off Pours down the golden radiance of his light Upon the enridged sea; where the black ship Sails on the phosphor-seeming waves. So fair, But falsely flattering, was yon surface calm, When forth for India sailed, in evil time, That vessel, whose disastrous fate, when told, Filled every breast with horror, and each eye With piteous tears, so cruel was the loss. Methinks I see her, as, by the wintry storm Shattered and driven along past yonder isle, She strove, her latest hope, by strength or art, To gain the port within it, or at worst, To shun that harbourless and hollow coast From Portland eastward to the promontory Where still St Alban's high-built chapel stands. But art nor strength avail her-on she drives, Were poor to this; freighted with hopeful youth, By mortal terrors, and paternal love, The Miseries of War. From Verses intended to have been spoken in the Theatre of Oxford, on the Installation of the Duke of Portland as Chapcellor of the University.' If the stroke of war Fell certain on the guilty head, none else; Sing their mad hymns of triumph-hymns to God, CHARLOTTE SMITH. Being Several ladies cultivated poetry with success at this time. Among these was MRS CHarlotte SMITH (whose admirable prose fictions will afterwards be noticed). She was the daughter of Mr Turner of Stoke House, in Surrey, and born on the 4th of May 1749. She was remarkable for precocity of talents, and for a lively playful humour that shewed itself in conversation, and in compositions both in prose and verse. early deprived of her mother, she was carelessly though expensively educated, and introduced into society at a very early age. Her father having decided on a second marriage, the friends of the young and admired poetess endeavoured to establish her in life, and she was induced to accept the hand of Mr Smith, the son and partner of a rich West India merchant. The husband was twentyone years of age, and his wife fifteen! This rash union was productive of mutual discontent and misery. Mr Smith was careless and extravagant, The Halsewell, Captain Pierce, was wrecked in January 1786, having struck on the rocks near Seacombe, on the island of Purbeck, between Peverel Point and St Alban's Head. All the passengers perished; but out of 240 souls on board, 74 were saved. Seven interesting and accomplished young ladies (two of them daughters of the captain) were among the drowned. Another May new buds and flowers shall bring; Pluck the wild rose or woodbine's gadding flowers; So charmed my way with friendship and the Muse. And weary Hope reclines upon the tomb, business was neglected, and his father dying, left a will so complicated and voluminous that no two lawyers understood it in the same sense. Lawsuits and embarrassments were therefore the portion of this ill-starred pair for all their afterlives. Mr Smith was ultimately forced to sell the greater part of his property, after he had been thrown into prison, and his faithful wife had shared with him the misery and discomfort of his confinement. After an unhappy union of twentythree years, Mrs Smith separated from her husband, and, taking a cottage near Chichester, applied herself to her literary occupations with cheerful assiduity, supplying to her children the duties of both parents. In eight months she completed her novel of Emmeline, published in 1788. In the following year appeared another novel from her pen, entitled Ethelinde; and in Recollections of English Scenery.—From Beachy Head? 1791, a third under the name of Celestina. She imbibed the opinions of the French Revolution, and embodied them in a romance entitled Desmond. This work arrayed against her many of her friends and readers, but she regained the public favour by her tale, the Old Manor-house, which is the best of her novels. Part of this work was written at Eartham, the residence of Hayley, during the period of Cowper's visit to that poetical retreat. It was delightful,' says Hayley, 'to hear her read what she had just written, for she read, as she wrote, with simplicity and grace.' Cowper was also astonished at the rapidity and excellence of her composition. Mrs Smith continued her literary labours amidst private and family distress. She wrote a valuable little compendium for children, under the title of Conversations; A History of British Birds; a descriptive poem on Beachy Head, &c. She died at Tilford, near Farnham, on the 28th of October 1806. The poetry of Mrs Smith is elegant and sentimental, and generally of a pathetic cast. Sonnets. On the Departure of the Nightingale. Sweet poet of the woods, a long adieu! Farewell, soft minstrel of the early year! The gentle bird who sings of pity best : Written at the Close of Spring. The garlands fade that Spring so lately wove; The primrose wan, and harebell mildly blue. Or purple orchis variegate the plain, Till Spring again shall call forth every bell, And dress with humid hands her wreaths again. Ah, poor humanity! so frail, so fair, Are the fond visions of thy early day, Till tyrant passion and corrosive care Bid all thy fairy colours fade away! Haunts of my youth! Advancing higher still, Where woods of ash and beech, There honeysuckles flaunt, and roses blow Of richest crimson; while, in thorny moss I loved her rudest scenes-warrens, and heaths, MISS BLAMIRE. MISS SUSANNA BLAMIRE (1747-1794), a Cumberland lady, was distinguished for the excellence of her Scottish poetry, which has all the idiomatic ease and grace of a native minstrel. Miss Blamire was born of a respectable family in Cumberland, at Cardew Hall, near Carlisle, where she resided till her twentieth year, beloved by a circle of friends and acquaintance, with whom she associated in what were called merry neets, or merry evening-parties, in her native district. Her sister becoming the wife of Colonel Graham of Duchray, Perthshire, Susanna accompanied the pair to Scotland, where she remained some years, and imbibed that taste for Scottish melody and music which prompted her beautiful lyrics, The Nabob, The Siller Croun, &c. She also wrote some pieces in the Cumbrian dialect, and a descriptive poem of some length, entitled Stocklewath, or the Cumbrian Village. Miss Blamire died unmarried at Carlisle, in her forty-seventh year, and her name had almost faded from remembrance, when, in 1842, her poetical works were collected and published in one volume, with a preface, memoir, and notes by Patrick Maxwell. The Nabob. When silent time, wi' lightly foot, I sought again my native land Wha kens gin the dear friends I left Or gin I e'er again shall taste As I drew near my ancient pile Ilk place I passed seemed yet to speak Whilk made me think the present joys The ivied tower now met my eye, Nae friend stepped forth wi' open hand, I ran to ilka dear friend's room, I knew where ilk ane used to sit, I closed the door, and sobbed aloud, Some pensy chiels, a new-sprung race Wha shuddered at my Gothic wa's, And wished my groves away. 'Cut, cut,' they cried, those aged elms; Lay low yon mournfu' pine.' Na! na! our fathers' names grow there, Memorials o' langsyne. To wean me frae these waefu' thoughts, They took me to the town; But sair on ilka weel-kenned face I missed the youthfu' bloom. At balls they pointed to a nymph Wham a' declared divine; But sure her mother's blushing cheeks In vain I sought in music's sound I listened to langsyne. Ye sons to comrades o' my youth, Your hearts will feel like mine; What Ails this Heart o' Mine? "This song seems to have been a favourite with the authoress, for I have met with it in various forms among her papers; and the labour bestowed upon it has been well repaid by the popularity it has all along enjoyed.'-Maxwell's Memoir of Miss Blamire. What ails this heart o' mine? What gars me a' turn pale as death When thou art far awa', Thou 'lt dearer grow to me; But change o' place and change o' folk When I gae out at e'en, Or walk at morning air, Ilk rustling bush will seem to say And live aneath the tree, And when a leaf fa's i' my lap, I'll hie me to the bower That thou wi' roses tied, And where wi' mony a blushing bud I'll doat on ilka spot Where I hae been wi' thee; And ca' to mind some kindly word By ilka burn and tree. As an example of the Cumberland dialect: Auld Robin Forbes. And auld Robin Forbes hes gien tem a dance, The lasses aw wondered what Willy cud see wit, And slily telt Willy that cudn't be it. But Willy he laughed, and he meade me his weyfe, I mind when I carried my wark to yon steyle, There was nin o' the leave that was leyke my awn sel; When the clock had struck eight, I expected him heame, And wheyles went to meet him as far as Dumleane; MRS BARBAULD. The ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD, the daughter of Dr John Aikin, was born at Kibworth Harcourt, in Leicestershire, in 1743. Her father at this time kept a seminary for the education of boys, and Anna received the same instruction, being early initiated into a knowledge of classical literature. In 1758, Dr Aikin undertaking the office of classical tutor in a dissenting academy at Warrington, his daughter accompanied him, and resided there fifteen years. In 1773, she published a volume of miscellaneous poems, of which four editions were called for in one year. In May 1774, she was married to the Rev. Rochemont Barbauld, a French Protestant, who was minister of a dissenting congregation at Palgrave, near Diss, and who had just opened a boarding-school at the neighbouring village of Palgrave, in Suffolk. poetess participated with her husband in the task of instruction. In 1775, she came forward with a volume of devotional pieces compiled from the Psalms, and another volume of Hymns in Prose for children. In 1786, Mr and Mrs Barbauld established themselves at Hampstead, and there several tracts proceeded from the pen of our authoress on the topics of the day, in all which she espoused the principles of the Whigs. She also assisted her father in preparing a series of tales for children, entitled Evenings at Home, and she wrote critical essays on Akenside and Collins, prefixed to editions of their works. In 1803, Mrs Barbauld compiled a selection of essays from the Spectator, Tatler, and Guardian, to which she prefixed a preliminary essay; and in the following year she edited the correspondence of Richardson, and wrote a life of the novelist. She afterwards edited a collection of the British novelists, published in 1810, with an introductory essay, and biographical and critical notices. Mrs Barbauld died on the 9th of March 1825. Some of her lyrical pieces are flowing and harmonious, and her Ode to Spring is a happy imitation of Collins. Charles James Fox is said to have been a great admirer of Mrs Barbauld's songs, but they are by no means the best of her compositions, being generally artificial, and unimpassioned in their character. Sweet daughter of a rough and stormy sire, And swelling buds are crowned; From the green islands of eternal youth- O thou, whose powerful voice, More sweet than softest touch of Doric reed Breathe thy own tender calm. Thee, best beloved! the virgin train await With untired feet; and cull thy earliest sweets To weave fresh garlands for the glowing brow Of him, the favoured youth That prompts their whispered sigh. Unlock thy copious stores; those tender showers That drop their sweetness on the infant buds, And silent dews that swell The milky ear's green stem, And feed the flowering osier's early shoots; boughs With warm and pleasant breath Salute the blowing flowers. Now let me sit beneath the whitening thorn, O nymph, approach! while yet the temperate Sun The Earth's fair bosom; while the streaming veil Sweet is thy reign, but short: the red dog-star Reluctant shall I bid thee then farewell; |